Drunk
by thewhoreat-221b
Summary: Erik/Charles, XMFC movie-verse. Rated T for sexual implications and drinking. "Erik could describe drunk Charles using one word: flirty."


**Author's Note:** I saw X-Men: First Class and… well, Erik and Charles! Their relationship is so intricate and amazing it's just too much for words. Also, please review. Reviews make me happy.

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me, they are the property of Marvel.

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><p>Erik could describe drunk Charles using one word: flirty; using two, it would be shamelessly flirty.<p>

"You have very lovely eyes, my friend," he said over a pint one night in seedy bar after they had failed to recruit a mutant.

"You're drunk, Charles," Erik said, sipping his own beer and laughing a little about how Charles was, in fact, now to the point at which he started using the cheesy pick-up lines on Erik. Not to say this was exactly a normal occurrence, just that it seemed like a proper defined point to describe Charles' drunkenness. Not so drunk as to be stumbling drunk, but drunker than normal flirty drunk Charles. Erik figured that there was also a point of inebriation at which Charles would flirt with a cat.

"A mutation within the… the err… oh I've forgetting the name of the gene that causes the amount of mela… mela-something in your eyes to be lower. It is a very groovy mutation, though!"

Erik looked over at Charles, who was far, far drunker than Erik had originally thought he was. Stumbling over words and slurring was not a very Charles-like thing to do in the first place, but the visual confirmed that he was absolutely fucking plastered. His gorgeous blue eyes were glassed over, his cheeks and nose were a lovely shade of rosy-pink, and his lips impossibly redder. Even his hair seemed drunk, incredibly more fluffy and now disheveled and in front of his forehead and eyes. It was both positively adorable and strangely erotic at the same time, especially the way that his eyes looked at him with such longing and trust and the way his lips were so red… Erik shook the thoughts from his mind the moment they entered, drunk Charles didn't ignore what was going on in his mind as much as sober Charles did.

"Melanin! Oh, that's what word I was searching for! You have, er, less mela… oh I forgot the word again, but it gives you such beautiful green eyes, my friend," said Charles. He was barely able to hold his glass at this point, his hands a little too unsteady. Erik face-palmed and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing that he was going to end up playing the mature adult, despite the brewing feelings for Charles.

"Charles, don't you think that it would be a good idea to go back to the room?" he asked.

Charles stared at him completely confused, like Erik had just suggested that they had an alien spaceship in the back of the bar. "Hmm?"

"The room, Charles, the room," Erik pressed.

"Ah yes! Well, I seem to be er, rather…"

"Drunk, Charles, you seem to be drunk."

"Right. Will you help me? I don't think it's possible for me to move without… oh what do you call it when you can't move your legs correctly?"

Charles tried to get off the stool, his legs so shaky that Erik had to catch him before he fell to the floor. He ended up with his arm over Erik's shoulders and Erik's arm wrapped around his waist, keeping him up and almost dragging him as he tried to walk. It was fairly distracting to have him that close; Charles' breath was against his ear, soft and smelling strongly of the cheap beer he was drinking. It was intoxicating.

The distance between the bar and their hotel room was short, but it seemed to take forever for the two of them, Erik trying to keep Charles' feet on the ground and trying to stop him from tripping over them. Not only that, but Charles was still, surprisingly, flirty; whispering things about genes and mutations in such a manner that it made Erik's blood rush fast and hard. From anybody else, talking about the origin of the dark hair gene would be boring and monotonous, but from Charles, it was something else entirely; almost sinful with the way that his accent sounded.

By the time that he got Charles over the threshold of the hotel room, Charles was talking enthusiastically about all the factors that affect height, genetic and otherwise. He was also clinging impossibly close to Erik, who was now trying very hard not to think about Charles' lips on his body. Or his lips on Charles to stop him from saying those things that made Erik's heart skip. Or lips on neck and skin on skin, the air mixed with sweat and energy and everything amplified because Charles is a telepath.

Charles is a telepath.

Erik stopped dead in his tracks to look at Charles, who was now even more flushed than before and staring right at him. Erik opted to look away, the intense glossy blue a little too severe to stare back at, as he deposited the nearly-limp Charles on the red covers of one of the hotel room's two beds; the one that had already been claimed by Erik. Mentally, Erik slapped himself for the stray thought of what he wanted with him, drunk Charles was a lot more in tune to accidentally pick up others' thoughts and how could Erik forget that?

"Erik," Charles said straight, no longer sounding quite as drunk. Erik tried to look away again, but Charles put his hand on his cheek and moved his face towards him. Erik's heart jumped, forced to look at Charles' face, Charles' blue eyes and pretty pink cheeks and nose and perfectly no longer perfect hair. "I did not know."

Erik scoffed.

"Erik," Charles whispered, closing the short distance between them with his lips.

Erik forgot how to breathe. Charles' lips were as perfect as the rest of him, perfectly red and perfectly soft. The kiss was incredibly chaste, testing waters, a simple push of two sets of lips against each other.

The waters were a dam, in the case of Erik, and the kiss was what broke it. When he finally came to his senses, he kissed back fiercely, all teeth and drunk-sloppy tongue. Charles pulled Erik towards him with the collar of his turtleneck, somehow ending up horizontal on the bed with Erik on top and kissing still.

In his alcohol-fueled state of mind, Erik wanted Charles more than anything else in the world. All of the sexual tension was about to explode, and now, with this, it was finally his chance. He wanted to ravish Charles, to make him his, to mark him. That thought was especially prominent as he kissed down Charles' neck and sucked and licked lightly, Charles making soft encouraging noises and moans. At some point, Charles forgot how to control himself and he was emitting a slight telepathic hum of pure feeling and emotion all around him, everything Erik did to him and everything Charles did to Erik was just stronger, more pronounced, there.

Charles had his hands all over Erik, touching every place at once, all he could over the turtleneck. He tried to pull it up, and it was at that moment with all the fumbling and the fact that Charles couldn't even get the turtleneck off of him that he remembered; Charles was drunk off of his ass. He was in no shape for this; it would be taking advantage of him, of his friend. He couldn't do that, no matter how much Charles seemed to want it.

And anyways, the rational mind of Erik Lehnsherr told him, he probably won't remember this in the morning. The level of awkward if they went all the way would be rise to impossible proportions. It might even prevent them from continuing their mission and Erik could lose what he considered his only friend. So he stopped.

"Erik, something wrong?" Charles asked, looking up at Erik with his perfect eyes and tussled hair and pink cheeks and nose.

Erik sighed, removing himself so that he was no longer on top of Charles, "I can't, Charles. You're drunk."

Charles was pouting now, clinging to Erik. "Uhm… Erik, I'm tired now."

Before he could do anything, Charles was sleeping, breathing heavily, his chest moving up and down with each intake of air. Erik sighed again; for all this time the two had travelled, this is the first time that Charles had shown anything in feelings beyond friendship, even with all those lingering, intense glances, and for some reason, it killed him. His sense of morality, despite rather lacking in manners related to Shaw, was kicking in and it told him that it all was wrong, all beyond wrong even with the blood rushing in his ears and the way that Charles was so very, very willing. But no, he still couldn't; Charles wouldn't remember. It would be so very wrong.

He fell asleep next to Charles on the bed fully dressed. He couldn't just leave him alone.

Sometime during the night Charles ended up cuddled against Erik, with Erik holding him tight in turn.

The next morning neither of them mentioned what happened the night before; Erik because he swore to himself he couldn't fuck the two of them up and Charles… well, Erik doubted he remembered.


End file.
